


Not a Whisper Word Is Said

by Crab_Lad



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman vs. Robin (2015)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Blood and Injury, Court of Owls, Dark, Fake Character Death, Fear, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Not Really Character Death, Psychological Horror, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, but its not real?, dark themes, no beta we die like jason
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:47:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27610904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crab_Lad/pseuds/Crab_Lad
Summary: Beware the Court of Owls
Relationships: Batfamily Members & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	Not a Whisper Word Is Said

**Author's Note:**

> hehehehehe i've been fixating on the court of owls so i wrote this semi dark and depressing thing. I could have gone darker and more horror-y but i just wanted to write something quick uwu
> 
> Title inspired from the altered rhyme from the gotham Knights trailer

_ Beware the Court of Owls, _

Bruce fell to his knees, a cough ripping from him. His lungs burns with the struggle, throat constricting as he tries to force himself to inhale. A wheezing breath shook his body. Dimly, he watches as he coughs again, hand dripping red when he pulls away. The gas continus spilling into the room, swirling the air into a purplish color. 

God, he shouldn’t have gone out alone. He should have taken Dick with him, or kept comm connections to Alfred. Hell, he should have reached out to Jason or Tim for this. Damian is MIA, the entire reason why Bruce os following the tracker he placed on the assassin into this hellish sewer. 

_ That watches all the time, _

God, Dick is right. He should have paid more attention to Damian, treated him more like a son than holding him out at arm’s length. He should have honed Damian’s skills, rather than forbidding him from going out as Robin. The kid is unpredictable, but he really is Bruce’s son. And yet, Bruce had been so afraid, so weary of who Damian's mother is, that he allowed himself to push Damian away, right into the arms of that assassin. 

His vision starts to blacken, but he finally reaches his breathing apparatus. As quickly as Bruce could, despite his muscles tensing and cramping, he seals it over his mouth. It still took a few breaths to filter out his lungs, to suck in much needed oxygen. His lungs expand, causing him to cough once again. But when he looks down, there is no blood on his hand. 

_ Ruling Gotham from a shadow perch, _

When he looks up, the scene had changs. Instead of the dark, crummy walls of the sewer, he sees the soft brown light of a street lamp. The brick walls dance with shadows, his own and two larger ones behind him. The street is littered with puddles, signally a recent rain storm. There is a high, bell-like laugh behind him that struck him to his core. He was ten again, looking at his parents as they exit the movie theater. 

His mother is draped in a fur coat, her dress down to her ankles and shimmering in the dark moonlight. Her pearls lay delicately around her neck. The smile on her face was just as beautiful as he remembers. His father had a more reserved look, but he could see the fondness in those eyes, those eyes he inherited. He could see himself in his mother’s nose, her ears, the shape of her head, yet the jawline of his father is what he sees in the mirror everyday. Suddenly the two stop, Martha frozen in fear as Thomas steps forward with an arm covering both Bruce and his mother. 

_ Behind granite and lime.  _

Two shots rang out, but instead of his parents, Alfred and Dick lay on the ground, lifeless. Blood trickles from his eldest son’s mouth, pooling around the fallen pearls of his mother. Alfred met his eyes, before exhaling a final time and laying still. Bruce held back a sob, as he drops down to grip both of their hands. When he turns back to Chill, all he sees is himself, Batman. Those eyes held nothing but hate and anger, and Bruce felt every inch of his small form shake. It's everything he fears he'll become, and everything he hopes to avoid.

But then that figure shifts, an older Damian standing before him, pistol aimed at his head. Bruce is still a child, barely reaching Damian’s waist as he coweres back, heart hammering in his chest. Damian advances, pressing the cool metal against Bruce’s skin, only furthering that intense spike of adrenaline. Bruce's whole body felt on fire, sweat dripping from his hairline. 

_ They watch you from your hearth, _

“Please,” he calls out weakly, not sure what he is asking for. 

The gun goes off, but their positions change. Damian stood below him, bloodied and spiteful as Bruce stares him down from the barrel of the fired pistol. Bruce watches in horror as the life drains from Damian, and he drops down to the ground. Trembling, Bruce through the gun, squeezing his eyes shut. 

“It’s not real,” he growled out, “none of this is real.” 

When he opens his eyes, he is back home but it's all wrecked. The towering walls are at least 50 feet tall and crumbling. The furniture is turned over, broken, and the portrait of his parents torn. Jason stands there, red helmet forgotten on the ground. There are burn marks racing along his body, eyes a vivid, unnatural green. The Lazarus Pit had twisted his son into something animalistic and unrecognizable.

_ They watch you in your bed, _

“Jason,” he chokes out, taking a step forward but finding himself unable to move. 

Jason speaks, voice harsh and sharp, “You made me this. You let me die.” 

He watches as bits of Jason’s skin melts away into something paler, the green blending into his hair. The manic, sadistic smile of the joker spreading across the right side of Jason’s face, formed from the residual blood. That chilling laugh filters through the room, a blend of Jason and Joker’s voice. It is a sickly sweet tone, his son and his most hated enemy in one. 

“You created all of this,” they say in sync, reaching forward with a knife. 

He blocks it, but somehow it ends with him pressing the point into Jason’s skin. Blood trickles from the small nick, with Jason and Joker grabbing his hand. 

“Do it,” they growl, equal looks of rage and something psychotically pleased, “end this.” 

_ Speak not a whispered word of them, _

This had to be something similar to the scarecrows serum, enhanced to send him in a spiralling nightmare. Sure enough, Tim, Cass, Stephanie, Barbara, Luke and Kate surround him, equal looks of hate and disdain. 

Bruce ignores their taunting, closing his eyes and digging his palms into them. Behind his eyelids, he sees stars from the force of it, letting out a ragged yell. Clark and Diana’s voice, the rest of the League’s overlap and he forces himself to tune it out, to focus on getting out of here. 

Stumbling, he reaches around for the fear toxin serum in his pouch, relief filling him when he reaches it, but he dug even further reaching for the pill that would knock him unconscious. It is something he hopes he would never use, but if he doesn't, the situation would get worse. Despite not wearing the suit in his nightmare, he feels the pouch sure enough as he pulls the pill out. It squirms in his hands, something grotesque and awful. 

Ignoring all the fake and imagined input from his brain, he forces himself to swallow it, welcoming the coming shut down. Sure enough, as he slowly slips into unconsciousness, the visions shifts until the last thing he sees is a pair of glowing goggles over a hood. He welcomes the darkness, hoping that Alfred would find him first. 

_ Or they’ll send The Talon for your head. _

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr is crablad


End file.
